Miami Vice
by supersampler
Summary: Grissom and Sara take a trip. GSR


Disclaimer: If I owned CSI, '_One To Go_' would only be the beginning of of onscreen GSR.

--

Even with sunglasses on she has to squint, the sun seems to shine brighter around here – reflecting off the clay tiles below their feet and off the brilliant blue pool. _Their_ private brilliant blue pool she thinks to herself and smiles.

She turns away from the glare of the pool to see him sitting comfortably on a wooden deckchair, his nose buried in a forensic science journal. She has to suppress a laugh at the sight of his blue Hawaiian-esque tee and straw hat that somehow manages to suit each other.

Maybe everything looks better under the Miami sun, she thinks to herself as she walks into the shade to join him.

"Tired of the sun already?" he asks, placing the journal aside as she sits herself down on the armrest of his chair.

"Hardly," she replies, pulling off her sunglasses and setting them down by the table, and he cannot help but stare into her deep eyes that radiate happiness as warm as the sun. Her hair is wavier than usual, probably due to the chlorine, and her skin is glowing, faint freckles more pronounced than usual.

She looks like she belongs here, wearing nothing but her chocolate brown bikini and a smile, and, for a moment, he never wants to return to the lab.

"Gil," she says suddenly, bringing his mind back to the present, moving from the edge of the seat and onto his lap. "Let's go swimming."

"I'm too comfortable here, and sleepy," he murmurs, pulling her down until her head is resting against his chest. She smells delicious, like citrus and chocolate and coconut, her skin extremely warm to the touch.

"Me too," she replies, tilting her head upwards and smiling once more. Her lips are glazed with something that smells like marshmallows and cocoa butter, and he recalls the lip balm by her bedside. Yellow cap and wrapper, SPF30, one he borrowed it earlier today.

"Are you comfortable?"

She nods and presses her lips to his open palm, leaving a faint lip print behind.

"Good," he says and he kisses her lightly. She giggles against his lips and he pulls away, bemused. "What?"

"Never in my wildest dreams does Dr. Gil Grissom _use _lip balm."

He nudges her playfully and wraps an arm around her tanned shoulders, she kisses him once more and they slowly fall asleep in a haze of sunscreen and leave-in conditioner, amidst the summer heat.

--

"Catherine told me Greg just got back from his conference."

She breaks the surface, her dark hair fanning around the water like seaweed that sticks to the sides of her face as she climbs out of the pool, a vision of beauty in the moonlit night.

"Think they'll start getting suspicious yet?"

"I'm supposed to be in New England, and you're at home. I don't think they'll be suspicious of me teaching, but you, _not_ at work? Probably."

"I'm not the only one staying in nowadays," she says with a smirk, her long legs dangling over the edge of the pool, splashing the water absent-mindedly. "But I do feel guilty, depriving all those bright, young minds at Vermont of a teacher."

He walks to the edge of the pool, where she is still kicking up water like a mini tsunami. "I can teach a bright, young mind here something other than entomology, though," he says huskily.

She stops kicking and laughs, before pushing herself into the water. With her eyes twinkling and her fingers tugging at her bikini top, she whispers, "Is skinny dipping one of them?"

--

"Pass me the sunscreen please."

"Which one of the twenty?" he asks innocently, staring at twenty bottles scattered on the vanity desk.

She groans and climbs out of the bed, her hair messy in the perfect kind of way. "I did not bring twenty bottles along."

When she first moved in with him, he realised she spent a bulk of her salary on sunscreen, everything from sunscreen with zinc oxide to organic strawberry sunscreen.

"I have pale, sun sensitive skin, Gil. I can't help but burn in the sun, unlike you," she said after he asked her about her 'collection', sounding rather wistful.

He bought her a tube of SPF50 sunscreen by Bain de Soleil a week after that, which was imported directly from New York and smelled like coconut and vanilla.

"This one," she says, grabbing a light green tube. "The organic green tea one."

"Ah," he says, pulling the covers off himself, watching her with amusement as she slathers it all over herself.

After a few minutes, she turns around smelling like a tea shop, bottle in hand. "Help?" she asks, gesturing to her back.

"Sure," he says, pulling her onto the bed.

She lies face down on the bed while he massages the white cream onto her skin, its texture reminiscent of whipped cream. He rubs her shoulders gently and she groans softly, making him smile.

Maybe sunscreen isn't so bad, after all.

Minutes later, he closes the cap and places it back onto the vanity, along with the rest of the bottles. "All done, Sara."

She doesn't reply nor move, and he frowns. "Sara?"

It takes him less than a second to realise she's asleep and he smiles, admiring her sleeping form for several minutes in silence before pulling the covers around her and crawling back to bed.

The whole room smells like green tea, she is sticky to the touch, his palms are greasy but at that moment, everything is perfect.

--

On their last day in Miami, they spend the afternoon on the deck.

"This is perfect," he says, staring up at the wide sky with its unnatural blue hue, feeling the Florida heat warm their backs.

"It is," she replies easily while licking a pale scoop of ice cream, leaving a perfect stripe of gold on her tongue that disappears in a blink.

He glances at her and smiles, nibbling at the cone of his strawberry sorbet. He never knew eating ice cream while sitting on clay tiles could be so satisfying, but right here right now, he relishes the simple things in life.

No deaths, no latex gloves, no killing.

Just him, her and their melting ice creams.

Her glances over at her once more and sees her honey ice cream melt faster than she can lick it, running down her fingers and eluding her tongue.

"Slowpoke," he teases, watching it dripping steadily onto the red tiles.

"Speak for yourself."

It is only then he realises the cold crimson dripping down the waffle cone and he struggles to stop it from melting by taking huge bites, turning it into an impromptu competition as they try to finish their ice creams before it is reduced to a syrupy mess.

He eventually finishes his before hers, and turns to lick the ice cream from her fingers, making her laugh as his cold tongue makes contact with her warm skin. She drops the cone and wraps her sticky arms around his neck, and he is oblivious to the cream running down his shirt as she closes the distance between their cold lips.

He tastes honey and strawberry and pure bliss on her tongue, and he wonders if she tastes the same.

"You taste good," she says against his lips and he smiles, pressing his lips against hers once more.

"Sara?" he asks minutes later, holding her close.

She makes a funny noise at the back of her throat as an answer, bringing him closer to render the both of them speechless once more.

"I love you," he manages to say in between soft kisses, feeling the happiest he has been in a long, long time.

--

FINIS

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**A/N**: The plot bunny persisted until the very moment this was posted, so yeah, I listened to it and posted. I hope you enjoyed my first piece of fan fiction and thanks for reading :)


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